


Gravity

by cecropia



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Red String of Fate, That's it, but like different i guess??? idk, probably a one shot, they discover they're soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecropia/pseuds/cecropia
Summary: “Um…”“Yeah,” Is all Evan can say back, because he’s not sure what else to say. ‘Hey, what’s up, I’m your life-partner responsible for your eternal happiness’ doesn’t feel quite right, but then again in the movies and TV shows they never have to introduce themselves, they always just start making out and groping each other or something. Evan kind of has no idea what to do or where to start.Definitely not groping.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all this is just a little something i wrote recently to get out of my writer's block (unsuccessfully, might i add) for my current chaptered story Lapse  
> it's the soulmate oneshot (?) no one asked for but i'm here to provide  
> title is inspired by sara bareilles  
> e n j o y
> 
> come talk to me! c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a on tumblr :-)  
> 

Evan doesn’t even want to close his eyes anymore at this point. 

He’s read so many forums on the internet, so many articles about the string and what it means and how to find the person on the other end, and every day he feels it multiple times but he still hasn’t found them. Every day he feels like he’s so close to figuring it out, so close to “eternal happiness” or whatever people claim it is but it’s like every time he gets closer, his person takes one step back. Happiness slips right out of his hands every single time without fail. 

Typical.

The thing is, it’s kind of an inconvenience to close his eyes when he’s walking. Most of the time he feels the most intense tug in the middle of the crowded high school hallway (which leads him to believe his person is still in high school); but sometimes it’s late at night or after school or somewhere he can actually close his eyes and pay attention to the faint red line leading into a big sea of darkness. It doesn’t really move much then. The tug is gentle. It just sort of rests on the ground during those times, like his person isn’t fighting it, just letting it happen. It makes him endlessly sad.

But school is another story. Sometimes he’ll close his eyes during math or english or something else he finds incredibly boring and the string will be pulled so tightly through the open door that it looks like it’s about to snap any second, that familiar tug in his chest almost propelling him forward by his ribcage. It’s in those moments that he wants to run, wants to chase it blindly until he finds the person on the other end, but something always stops him. He’s afraid of what he’ll find.

What if they don’t want to be his?

According to gossip sites and psychology blogs, he feels more tugs per day than the average person. Which is interesting. Some bouts last longer than others, and sometimes they come in huge bursts where he can’t help but hold onto something because it physically hurts him to not be moving in the direction of the string, which is kind of inconvenient when he’s around other people. Jared likes to joke about his person having a terminal illness or something and that one day Evan’s just going to stop feeling the tug all together because that’s definitely something that would happen to one Evan Hansen.

Evan doesn’t find it very funny. 

Jared’s never felt it. He likes to claim that his person, wherever she is (he’s also convinced that they’re a  _ she _ ) is just so content with life that she hasn’t needed him that much. She’s a strong, independent woman. 

But Evan’s read the horror stories on the internet about someone’s person passing away or going comatose or something before the two of them could ever meet. It’s always scared him, because he feels so many goddamn tugs in one day that he loses count, and the geniuses on Reddit say that’s what happens when your person’s in serious distress or danger. It’s a sign that you need to get to them as soon as possible.

Evan wonders if that’s happened to Jared.

So Evan doesn’t talk about his string much. He doesn’t ask Jared about his, just nods along when Jared’s spewing some bullshit Evan doesn’t bother listening to because it’s the same story every day. He avoids the question when Jared asks about it because he doesn’t want to make Jared feel bad, doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s broken or that he’s not going to find them. He doesn’t want Jared to lose hope like Evan already has. 

So Evan’s kind of done trying. In the depths of his mind he’s just waiting to wake up one morning and not feel a thing; to  _ not _ be launched through the halls by some weird supernatural force that no one can really explain yet. His person, whoever they might be, has been struggling for so long that Evan’s kind of just waiting for Jared’s prediction to come true. There’s got to be a breaking point, because even just feeling the tugs on a daily basis is enough to exhaust Evan to the point of a breakdown.

It’s not supposed to happen this much. His mom even took him to a psychologist at one point because it was happening so much as a child, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. For a second they thought it might be a heart condition, because children don’t usually have strong “attacks”, but they eventually discovered that it was just a string thing. He didn’t like the feeling at first, sitting on a chair at lunch and being practically thrown out of his seat and onto his ass on the cold tile floor. Everyone laughed, and Evan sat there and cried. Because of course he did.

Now he’s so used to the feeling that he kind of enjoys it. He doesn’t like the beginning, obviously, because he almost always feels like he’s going to throw up or sneeze or something awful. Especially during the ones that send him almost somersaulting over his desk. But after that it sort of grows into this breathtaking inflating feeling in his ribcage, spreading in warm tendrils throughout his whole chest and around his back and pulling him in whichever direction he’s needed. It almost feels like a pair of hands on his skin as opposed to a string around his heart or whatever people like to theorize it looks like, which Evan thinks is the better alternative by a long shot. The feeling is almost comforting when he doesn’t think of it as creepy ghost hands pulling him toward sudden death or something.

So naturally, when Evan’s walking into school and still hasn’t felt it all morning, he starts to worry. 

And he tries to not do that, tries to just turn off his anxiety because maybe his person’s actually feeling better for once, but he can’t help the sinking feeling that’s been slowly building in his stomach all morning. What if they’re in danger? And there’s nothing he can do about it? 

He’s only slightly reassured when he meets Jared in the hallway before class, because he feels the smallest of tugs and sighs out a breath of relief as he struggles to open his locker. It’s not much, but it’s something. 

He can’t say he doesn’t see it coming, because Jared is Jared, but it still kind of hurts when Jared makes fun of him for the empty cast on his arm. He doesn’t know the full story, yeah, but he could at least be sympathetic. That would be nice. 

He doesn’t even really register it until after it happens. 

Because right after he tries his best to hide the fact that he just about flew backward due to the intensity of his person’s emotions, Jared’s calling someone a  _ fucking freak _ and walking away. Just leaving him there to deal with the aftermath. 

He sees him now. Tall, gangly, and pale with a mess of brown hair and— the angriest pale grey eyes Evan’s ever seen, really. Ones that are looking right through him. 

A pang of fear hits him in his chest, makes his heart jump, and Connor Murphy takes a step forward and kind of stumbles a bit. People are starting to scatter from the hallway, and Evan wants anything but Connor’s eyes on him at this present moment. So he takes a step back, or— he tries to take a step back, but he’s sort of locked in place. He lets out a nervous laugh because that’s— that’s weird, it’s strange, and then Connor’s eyes widen and he gets this look of absolute fury on his face and he steps closer to Evan. 

“Stop fucking laughing at me.”

Evan finds himself taking a step forward. Like two hands gently pushing on the middle of his back. 

Connor looks him up and down, confusion apparent in his drawn eyebrows. Evan attempts to speak. 

“I wasn’t— I  _ wouldn’t _ , I’m not laughing—“

Except then he laughs again, anxiety getting the best of him as usual and Connor’s eyes light up with rage. He huffs out a breath and balls his fists. 

“You think I’m a  _ freak _ ?”

On the last word, Evan feels that familiar expanding feeling in his chest. He wants so badly to close his eyes as his feet move him closer without giving his brain the opportunity to catch up, but watching Connor is like witnessing a car accident. He couldn’t look away if he desired to. 

“No, I— I never said that—“

Connor’s so close now that Evan can see him trembling. He tries his best to hold his ground so that he doesn’t take any steps closer, but apparently his person decided now is a great time to be in extreme distress, so it happens anyway. The warm phantom hands on his back are getting hot— scalding, even, and Evan’s face contorts in pain and Connor’s does the same. 

“You’re the fucking  _ freak— _ “

He’s so fucking terrified. For a split second he feels the worst sense of dread he’s felt yet in his life, eyes scrunching up in fear, but the second Connor Murphy’s hands connect with his shoulders and Evan’s eyes are fully closed it all connects in his brain. The final puzzle piece is in place. 

Light. 

In some way that he can’t understand, it feels almost suffocating. Like he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t need to breathe, exactly. It feels like he’s being bathed in a bright golden sun that warms his skin and all that matters are these two hands on his shoulders, grip relaxing as Evan’s breath evens out. It’s like those scalding ghostly hands on his back from earlier have dissipated into tiny fragments, each piece sticking to every inch of his skin like a magnet and melting into a feeling of complete calm, a blanket of serenity and finality. 

When the light fades the string is still there, but it travels up, up, up— and stops. 

He can’t follow it into the distance, can’t watch it wrap around a corner or lay limp on the floor. It ends right where Connor’s heart should be. 

Evan opens his eyes. 

He watches as Connor’s expression shifts from anger to confusion and he watches as it slowly softens, eyebrows relaxing and eyes slipping shut for a long couple of seconds. When he opens them, they’re almost… sad. Like he doesn’t know how to feel. 

This is it, isn’t it? That moment he’s seen so many times depicted on TV dramas; read about in online forums. This is  _ it _ . But the media doesn’t have it completely right, not really. They don’t mention feeling like their hearts are about to beat out of their chests or that they also feel just a little bit sick to their stomachs. But maybe that’s just Evan. They also don’t mention the fact that it doesn’t feel like Evan could take his eyes off of Connor’s if he even wanted to, like the two of them are stuck in place like they’re nailed to the ground even though the late bell’s ringing in the background. Nothing else matters. It’s just them. Like he orbits around the look in Connor’s eyes.

He’s never really studied anyone’s face this in-depth before, apart from his own, of course. Connor has these really interesting downturned eyes that make every expression he makes just a little bit sad, with long eyelashes and these blue-grey irises that make Evan’s look like the muddy swamp water to Connor’s overcast sky. He has a couple of freckles scattered around his face; above his eyebrow, just above his jawline, another on his cheek, a couple on his nose, and one right underneath his bottom eyelashes, just barely there. Evan also can’t get over how Connor’s so sharp everywhere Evan’s so soft, like his jaw and his furrowed brow and his shoulders. 

His ears stick out from where his hair is pushed behind them, a couple of stray locks curling around his neck and jaw, and Evan didn’t realize it before but they’re the cutest things he’s ever seen in all honesty. Connor’s mouth isn’t so bad, either.

When Connor blinks at him with those unnaturally long lashes it feels like everything’s in slow motion. His hands are still on Evan’s shoulders; not gripping in anger like before, but just resting there. Shaking. Evan feels his fingers twitch and it sends a ripple of heat throughout his whole arm. 

“Um…”

“Yeah,” Is all Evan can say back, because he’s not sure what else to say. ‘ _ Hey, what’s up, I’m your life-partner responsible for your eternal happiness _ ’ doesn’t feel quite right, but then again in the movies and TV shows they never have to introduce themselves, they always just start making out and groping each other or something. Evan kind of has no idea what to do or where to start. 

Definitely not groping.

“You’re…”

“Yeah,” Evan says again. “I, um… I wasn’t laughing at you.”

He just wants to make sure that’s clear.

“Oh… alright,” Connor says, still making lasting eye contact. Evan really doesn’t want him to look away because every single second that their eyes meet and they’re making contact, everything feels… right. It sounds really fucking stupid to think, Evan realizes, but it’s true. That’s one thing the media got right. It’s like waves of warmth and reassurance. Like surges of comfort, of clarity. 

“I’m… sorry I almost pushed you,” Connor says quietly, glancing down at where his hands are still resting on Evan’s shoulders. Evan notices that Connor’s voice when he’s being civil is a lot softer and higher than he would have expected. It’s kind of lovely. Definitely unexpected, but a nice surprise for sure.

“Oh, it’s— it’s okay,” Evan says back, finding it impossible to contain this hopeful, elevated feeling he has building in his chest. Connor looks concerned, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this information. Evan wonders if Connor feels the same, feels everything he’s been feeling.

Connor doesn’t move his hands.

“So, um… you’re the one who’s been causing me all this fucking trouble all these years, huh?” Connor asks him, laughing awkwardly once and letting some of his curls fall in his face.

And…  _ oh _ . Evan had never really considered how he would be affecting his person— Connor, he corrects himself— on the other side of the string.

“I could… I could ask you the same thing.”

Connor almost laughs. “I always figured I’d put my person through hell before we even met.”

Evan shrugs, once again  _ extremely _ aware of Connor’s lovely warm hands on his shoulders. “It wasn’t bad, it was— this is weird; like,  _ so _ weird, but it was… nice to feel… I don’t know. Needed, I guess.”

Connor studies him a little bit, pursing his lips and letting his eyes float lazily around Evan’s face. When he smiles half of a smile, Evan— Evan  _ feels _ it. He literally feels it, which. That’s new. The tug rises higher this time, up his chest and shoulders and neck and it pokes at the hollows of his cheeks until he’s smiling too. 

Watching Connor watch him, Evan quickly realizes that this is a lot. It’s so much all at once. “We should, um… we should get to class.”

Evan doesn’t move. 

“Yeah, we probably should.”

Neither does Connor. 

But his hands slip a little bit from where they were resting just below Evan’s shoulders, down to grasp onto his biceps, and Evan almost shivers at that weird heat that pulses through his entire arm when Connor does stuff like that. It’s something he doesn’t know if he could ever get used to. 

“Do you… do you feel that, too?” Evan asks, letting out the tiniest of laughs when Connor’s eyes crinkle like he’s trying not to smile. He should feel incredibly stupid because it’s a stupid fucking question, but he doesn’t. He just feels giddy.

“Heat,” Connor says simply, nodding. “Yeah, it’s… it’s weird.” Connor flexes his fingers again and Evan almost flinches, laughing again when the feeling only expands the weird bubble building in his ribcage. He feels like he’s floating. 

Then Connor’s laughing too, a sound that only makes him smile harder and as much as he wishes he could stop it, because he’s always thought he had a weird smile and an even weirder laugh, he doesn’t want it to stop. Because Connor’s looking at him with the gentlest eyes and he feels that tugging feeling in his chest again, but this time he moves voluntarily. Just a little bit forward, enough to bridge the gap between them because he can’t really explain it but he just knows he wants to be closer. Connor’s hands move gently from Evan’s arms to his back when Evan steps forward, billows of heat blooming everywhere Connor touches him like Connor’s skimming his fingers through the waves of the ocean. 

They’re kind of… hugging now. Sort of. It’s one-sided. Evan’s hands are still dangling at his sides and suddenly he wants to reach up and touch, push back Connor’s hair or hold him by his jaw and stroke his thumbs across his cheekbones. 

“Can I…?” Evan trails off, a silent question that Connor answers with a nod. So he reaches up and gently places both hands on the sides of Connor’s neck, only to be met with a shiver and a soft surprised noise from the back of Connor’s throat. It does nothing to cover up the somehow bearable singeing feeling in Evan’s fingertips, though. Evan breathes out a laugh.

“Right?” Evan asks softly, and Connor licks his lips before nodding, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion but a bright smile on his face again. 

“Weird,” Connor confirms.

Silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, but silence nonetheless.

“Weird question,” Connor starts, avoiding Evan’s eyes, “Can I… like, hug you or something?”

“Yeah,” Evan breathes out before Connor can even finish his sentence, already working on wrapping his arms around Connor’s shoulders. 

When Connor pulls their bodies together it’s like— it’s like his reality but doubled in intensity, somehow. Like someone’s taken the saturation of their lives and cranked it up fifty percent, like every nerve ending is firing triple what it’s supposed to and sparks are traveling through his blood, like he and Connor are the north and south poles of a magnet. Evan can hear his heartbeat whooshing fast in his ears and he’s almost dizzy with this feeling of being wanted; needed, really, and it’s so overwhelming and so incredible at the same time that he’s fucking dazed by the time his chin hooks over Connor’s shoulder. 

“Wow,” Connor exhales, muffled. 

“Yeah,” Evan agrees, suddenly struck with the fact that this is… intimate. Even just hugging Connor is intimate. He has a fleeting thought about what kissing Connor would be like if just hugging him is this intense, but he pushes that way down because they literally just met. But it’s still all Evan can think about as he breathes in and nuzzles his face further into the crook of Connor’s neck. Connor winds his hands into Evan’s shirt. 

Also, Connor’s hair smells good. Like, really good. He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that their souls are connected by a thin red string or if it’s a Connor thing or if it’s his shampoo but either way, Evan’s entranced. 

“Weird statement—“

“Whatever it is, I probably agree with it,” Evan interrupts him, smiling as Connor laughs. 

“I don’t want… to move,” He says, Evan’s heart jumping happily at the words. He feels Connor’s hands wind further into his shirt.

“Me neither,” Evan admits. 

After a moment, Connor says, “We’ll have to eventually.” There’s a twinge of sadness in his voice. 

“I know.”

A beat. 

“Hate the hallways. People always look at me like I’m some… I dunno. Fucking serial killer, or something.” Evan’s not sure if he’s feeling the tug or if he’s just choosing to pull Connor impossibly closer or both, but it happens regardless. 

“I’m sorry,” Evan says, partially because he doesn’t know what else to say and partially because he starts to pull back, physically fighting that magnetic feeling in his chest that so badly wants to stay here like this with Connor. 

Then they’re just standing there awkwardly, avoiding each other’s eyes, and Evan looks up when Connor’s hands shoot out to grab a hold of his and he feels a great sense of relief and a flooding of warmth. Connor’s face is burning. 

“So I’ll… I’ll see you around?” Connor asks, a question that carries so much weight. He’s still not looking Evan in the eyes. 

“Um— y-yeah, definitely,” Evan says quickly, squeezing Connor’s hands in his and smiling slightly at the way Connor shudders. 

“That’s  _ so weird _ ,” Connor mutters. 

“I know.”

Neither of them move. 

Evan glances down at their hands, and this is— this is not what he’d expected. He’d always been secretly hoping it was the other Murphy he’d be having this experience with, but— thinking that thought now, with Connor standing right in front of him and kind of swaying their arms back and forth— he doesn’t want that at all. This is all he wants. 

“Someone’s gotta let go,” Evan says quietly. 

“Yeah,” Connor agrees. 

Still, no one does. 

They both laugh after a beat, and it’s Evan who finally removes his hands from Connor’s and lets them drop to his sides. He looks up at Connor and Connor’s looking at him and his fingers twitch, just a little, and he fights the urge to reach out and pull him into another hug because that’s the only message firing in his brain at the moment. It feels like a stress response, like a fight or flight situation where Connor’s home base and he just has to get there. 

He feels  _ empty _ . He’d never realized how devoid of color his life felt before he’d found Connor, how lonely and hollow he thinks he’s always probably felt without the boy in front of him. 

The gentlest of tugs. 

“I know,” Evan whispers, so quietly he’s not even sure Connor hears it until he breathes out a relieved laugh. He feels the ghost of Connor’s hands on his back. 

“Fuck,” Connor murmurs, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a robotic step backward. “I’m… I’ll see you around, okay?”

It’s not a question, not really. 

“Yeah,” Evan answers, clenching his fists at his sides so he doesn’t spontaneously reach out, because that’s weird and he shouldn’t do that. He wants to, though. So badly. 

Connor takes a breath. “Okay,” He says, and Evan almost hears the  _ ‘good’ _ at the end of that sentence. “Well, uh… bye? I guess?”

“Bye,” Evan exhales, avoiding Connor’s eyes because that seems to be the only thing slightly relieving that dull ache in his stomach. 

And. 

Connor doesn’t walk away. 

The more he stands there hesitating the stronger that familiar expanding in his chest grows, willing him to take a step closer or a few and wrap his arms around his shoulders or press his mouth to Connor’s— 

“I’m— I’ll see you,” Evan says, rushed as he quickly makes his way down the hall. 

It’s not a  _ want _ , necessarily. It feels more like an intense  _ need _ , something he doesn’t know how to exist without now that he’s found the source of it. He needs to see Connor again, needs to hold his hands and pull him to his chest and tangle his fingers in Connor’s hair and he needs to feel that sense of grounding he felt when he looked into Connor’s eyes. Like there’s nowhere else he’s supposed to be. 

There’s not, he supposes. 

Not really. 

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At some point during Evan’s speech, Connor turns away and his body reacts before his mind, because his hands go from cold and empty to warm, full; stars exploding underneath his skin and he looks down to see that he has Evan’s fingers laced with his own. 
> 
> And he doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels a great sense of relief. 
> 
> Probably the soulmate thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a week without uploading she comes back with a 5K CHAPTER  
> i really wanted to continue this because i just love the whole soulmates idea and figuring out how it works and yeah.  
> connor's pov!!! writing this pov was really difficult but also really fun at the same time! i don't write him much but i'm glad i got the chance to because i just love his character.  
> i haven't really edited this much soooo i'll probs be changing some stuff in the near future  
> also: would any of you be interested in reading a pen pals AU i started like 3 months ago and gave up on like literally halfway through? I really want to re-edit everything and post it but i need to know if any of you would be interested in it.  
> that's it! enjoy my loves <3

They said it would never happen. 

And eventually, after the idea was reaffirmed countlessly by everyone who thinks he’s a freak, who thinks he’s a fucking rubber band that’s about to snap, Connor actually started to believe it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still kind of believes it, convinced that this Evan Hansen kid is probably going to be the first person in history to discover their soulmate and walk away from the promise of eternal happiness. That’s the kind of thing that would happen to Connor, because it feels like the universe just doesn’t want him to be happy. Like he’s just not supposed to have the things other people have. That’s how it’s always felt.

So when he almost pushes that poor unsuspecting kid with the anxiety disorder and finds himself smiling and actually fucking  _ laughing _ near the end of that whole interaction, he feels… off. Like it’s all some big practical joke. Not that he thinks Evan Hansen is capable of being the one to execute that kind of prank without accidentally revealing the truth or sweating through his clothes or something, but it still feels like an option. It feels like the only plausible explanation. 

He doesn’t trust it, to put it plainly. 

He’s not going to tell his family, that’s for sure. They’re the last ones he wants to know about this. And, Connor thinks bitterly as he avoids the invasive eyes watching him walk down the hallway, they probably wouldn’t believe him, anyway. And they have no reason to. 

Zoe’s been kind of suspicious, though, much to Connor’s frustration, and he’s been doing everything in his power to get her off his back. Why does she even care? It’s not like it’s any of her goddamn business if Connor’s a little less grumpy than usual, or if he chooses not to pick a fight with her on the drive back home from school. She should be happy. Grateful, even, that he’s decided to let her bullshit slide because he’s not as down as usual. And it sucks that he can’t even smile without being thought of as suspicious by everyone who claims to love him and claims to want the “absolute best” for him. It fucking sucks. 

Either way, Zoe’s not finding out about this if Connor has anything to do with it. And neither are his parents. 

So he’s been avoiding Evan as much as possible. 

Which, Connor quickly realizes, is a really fucking shitty idea. 

Because Evan Hansen is more than a handful when he decides to be stressed or in pain or anything like that. Sometimes it feels like Connor’s hyperventilating because his chest is fucking vibrating with the force and the sheer amount of tugs that happen in a matter of seconds. Like this kid is constantly shoving his fingers in an electrical socket. Sometimes they catch Connor by surprise and he can’t hold back the violent jolt of his shoulders so he has to pretend to have hiccups or something stupid, and then people laugh at him, and then all of a sudden he finds himself cornered at the end of the hall near the stairwell by a bunch of pricks and he doesn’t know what the hell to do. 

Usually if Connor just flips that switch that turns off his emotions and he plasters on his dead face, they go away faster. They get bored. 

Not this time. 

It’s Connor’s fault, probably. It’s much easier for him to act like he’s deaf than to pretend he can’t feel a giant fucking fist colliding with his rib cage. 

He stopped crying a long time ago. Not at home when he’s positive he’s alone, because it seems that’s all he does at home these days, but in these situations it’s different. It’s like he can just shut down and go somewhere else mentally. Physically he’s going through hell, but with practice he’s able to distract himself enough to just separate himself from the emotional pain. 

It’s especially distracting when he feels those tiny fireworks building in his chest because he can imagine Evan sitting in class and buzzing with discomfort, picking at the skin around his nails and it’s just nice to know that Evan’s subconscious is thinking of him. That somewhere deep down, Evan needs Connor just as much as Connor needs him. It’s reassuring. 

But for a second the pain gets too much to handle and he snaps out of it, coming back to his senses and realizing he’s curled into a ball on the floor and only a couple of guys are still here. He can feel something wet running over his lips and wipes them with the back of his hand. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s blood. 

They say something to him and laugh before they leave, but Connor doesn’t quite register what it is. 

He lets his head hit the wall behind him harder than he should, just to feel that sharp pain that reaffirms the fact that he’s still alive, he’s still here, and as he lets his eyes slip shut he decides to distract himself by tracing that red thread down the hall, around the corner, and—

It stops halfway up the stairs. 

Connor keeps his eyes closed for a couple more seconds, watching to see if Evan moves, but— he stays put behind the wall of lockers around the corner. Huh. 

To be fair, it seems that Connor had somehow crawled into the creepy basement where the freshman used to have class in the middle of dissociating, and most students would agree that this hall is haunted since the building is from the sixties and no one’s had class here for twenty years. Connor thinks it’s complete bullshit, of course, because ghosts aren’t real, but it’s something that someone with anxiety like Evan would probably believe. Maybe. 

Evan. Who’s literally only a couple of feet away from him and whose presence Connor needs so badly he almost craves it. 

Evan definitely came down here for a reason other than Connor, because sometimes this hallway is a shortcut, and he probably noticed that Connor was down here and sat on the stairs trying to figure out how he was going to avoid him because Connor’s a fucking mess of a person and more than a mess of a friend-slash-soulmate. Connor’s almost completely sure that’s what’s happening right now. He can’t say that it doesn’t make him just a little more hopeless.

But he can’t resist. He’s selfish and right now he’s craving Evan’s presence like he’s fucking oxygen and Connor has to say something to get his attention.

Fuck. He can’t even manage to avoid someone properly. 

Connor uses the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the rest of the blood from his nose, pushing his hair out of his face and trying to prepare mentally for the interaction that’s about to happen. Because he can’t just not call Evan over, Evan probably knows he’s here and knows that Connor knows he’s here and he should say something. 

He needs to say something. 

“I know you’re there.”

Maybe not that. He feels a tiny jolt in his chest. Connor must have scared him. He probably should have chosen different wording.

Stupid. 

Evan peeks around the corner, giving Connor an apologetic look as he emerges from behind the wall and Connor feels a wave of relief in his chest at the sight of his face. 

“Sorry—“

“I’m sorry—“

They both pause for a second, meeting each other’s eyes before looking away and chuckling softly. 

“Sorry I scared you, or whatever,” Connor says quietly, letting his bangs fall in front of his eyes to hide their puffiness.

“Oh, um— no no, it’s okay, I shouldn't have been… been hiding behind that wall like some— like a creep.” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Connor tries to say it casually, but the truth is that he’s super fucking nervous right now. He’s sure Evan can feel his heart beating out of his chest, but he’s also sure that Evan’s is probably a million times worse. 

“Um… Connor, can I… I mean, would you mind if I, um— sat—”

“Yeah, yeah, of course…”

_ Evan’s doing it to be nice, _ he tells himself.  _ It’s not because he likes you.  _

Evan makes his way down the hallway with his head down, watching his own feet, and Connor wonders if he walks like that all the time. If so, he probably runs into people a lot. It probably makes him feel worse than he already does. But Connor understands that, understands feeling like if he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone they won’t try and start something with him. Like if he looks up, he's just asking to get the shit beat out of him.

That’s what they tell Connor, at least. That and his painted nails.

He also notices that Evan kind of can’t keep still, like, at all. Even as he’s walking the short distance down the hallway he’s fidgeting with his hands and picking at his nails like Connor does sometimes and his arms are pressed close to his chest like he’s constantly bracing for something. He’s glancing around and chewing on his lip and it makes Connor wonder how he manages to have the energy to go to school and actually be a good student because Connor’s so fucking tired all the time already and if he were fidgeting that much on a daily basis, he’d be even more exhausted than he already is. 

It almost makes Connor sad.

And then he’s looking up and Evan’s right there, avoiding eye contact and looking like there are a million places he’d rather be than in this situation right now. His ears are red.

It’s cute.

“Uh… are you gonna, like, sit or something?”

“Oh— yeah, yeah, I’m sorry.”

Evan slides down the wall beside him, still looking straight down, and when he finally lands on the ground Connor expects him to relax, but. He still hasn’t relaxed. Like he’s a fucking jack-in-the-box that’s spring loaded, one more turn of the crank and he’s out of there. It’s probably accurate. His shoulders are almost touching his ears and his eyes are wide and he’s sweating, like not enough to notice from far away but Connor can see the beads of sweat forming on his temples and Connor wonders if he just personally runs colder than other people or if Evan runs hot. And then he thinks about the warmth of hugging Evan and how just a single touch felt so fucking euphoric and  _ fuck _ , he’s gay. He’s  _ so _ gay, shit. 

And then he realizes he’s staring at this poor kid and that he should probably say something.

“Well… don’t be.”

“Don’t be…?”

“Sorry. Don’t be sorry.”

“Oh. Um— yeah, okay. I won’t— I’m not. Sorry. Not sorry.”

“Cool.”

God, Connor really needs to work on communication.

But instead of actually confronting the things he needs to work on and the conversation he’s apparently trying to have, he just folds his arms across his bent knees and rests his chin on them. Literally the most closed-off position he can muster. 

It’s a defense tactic. Sue him. 

What he doesn’t expect from his potential provider of eternal happiness is that this mother fucker tries to look nonchalant, he pointedly looks away from Connor, and he rests his hand on the ground between them. Evan’s got his knees pulled up to his chest like Connor does, and it can’t be natural or comfortable for Evan to sit like that, one hand flat on the ground, but he’s doing it. Presumably so Connor can hold his hand or something else that those douchebags will call him a fag for later if they come back to check on him. 

Somehow he finds the potential for a moment of intimacy more terrifying than getting another bloody nose.

But he’s too fucking gay to resist glancing over at Evan just one more time, and luckily Evan’s got his head tipped back to rest against the wall, his eyes closed and his eyebrows pulled together. Connor wants to take his fingers and smooth it out for him, but that’s super fucking weird and he’d never do that in a million years. He can see him mouthing some breathing exercise which he recognizes from a couple of weeks spent in the psych ward, and he’s weirdly reassured by that. Like maybe Evan gets it. 

Evan has freckles. A lot of freckles. They’re mostly concentrated on his nose, the darkest ones spattered on the bridge and the lightest ones barely visible unless you’re close enough. Connor’s not even that close; actually, he’s kind of farther away than he wants to be because he wants to see if Evan’s hiding any more freckles on the rest of his face or his neck. That’s the only reason.

Okay, it’s not. Whatever. Connor wasn’t aware he had a thing for freckles, but here he is.

Evan’s got a nice jaw. It’s smooth and soft and perfect and none of the adjectives Connor would use to describe himself, with his sharp edges and general imperfections, but it doesn’t make Connor feel that bad about himself, surprisingly. It makes him feel… weirdly bubbly. Which is also a word he’s literally never used to describe himself. Something about looking at this boy next to him, this boy who chose to be there and chose to sit next to him and just exist around him just makes him feel strangely giddy. Excited, even.

Must be the whole soulmate thing.

Evan’s eyes flutter open and Connor expertly avoids his gaze. Evan doesn’t notice. Being a secret gay for the majority of his life has its perks. 

He just wants Evan to say something. Or leave. That would be easier. Then Connor wouldn’t have to deal with his feelings. But of course, Evan says nothing and Connor feels too weird with his actual soulmate sitting next to him to keep quiet so he just says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You don’t have to stay here with me.”

Stupid. He doesn’t want Evan to leave. 

Maybe he does. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t. Not really.

“Oh, I— I know.” Evan looks over at Connor and his whole expression shifts right in front of his eyes, from anxious to concerned in two seconds flat. 

Yes, they’re different.

“Is everything okay? Are— is that why you—?” Evan shuts his mouth, avoiding Connor’s eyes again and  _ shit _ . He probably still has blood on his face. Of course. 

He turns away, wiping aggressively at his cheeks and his mouth and his nose. “Is that why I  _ what _ ?”

He doesn’t mean to sound aggressive. It just comes out that way. 

It happens a lot. 

“Um… is that why you were… I, I felt… y’know.”

Right. Evan could physically  _ feel _ it. 

“Forgot about that.”

“Yeah…”

They lapse into uncomfortable silence, full to the brim of things they want to say but are too scared to mention. 

And Evan’s definitely not going to be the one to talk, so Connor takes one for the team. 

“Why did you come down here?”

Wow, nice one, Connor. Evan flinches a little. 

“I… um, well, I felt—“

“I know what you felt,” Connor snaps, frustration seeping into his words. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but fuck, if Evan was concerned about him at all shouldn’t he be saying more? Or attempting to… fucking ask what happened?

Connor’s not exactly making himself that available, truthfully. But still. 

“Sorry,” Connor mutters, shaking his head and resting it in his hands so Evan can’t see his face. He groans in frustration because he just can’t help it. “I just— I fucking hate awkward silence.”

Evan laughs bitterly, surprisingly loud and echoing down the hallway.

“I’m kind of— I’m an expert at making awkward silences, so. It’s kind of my specialty.”

Holy God. Evan Hansen is fucking  _ funny _ . 

Connor bites back a smile. “I’m an expert at perpetuating them.”

Evan gives him a look like he’s surprised, then he looks away and laughs. Like he’s embarrassed. Connor laughs along because… because he’s genuinely not suffering right now. Once again, this kid he barely knows has distracted him from his inner turmoil. 

No one can do that. No one’s been able to do that since… since he and Zoe were kids and their parents were screaming downstairs and Zoe would come into his room and ask to braid his hair or something. Back when they didn’t have a screaming match every other hour over stupid shit that doesn’t matter. 

Connor’s not even sure if they have a reason for hating each other anymore. 

It’s just their natural state. Connor doesn’t even remember the last time they’d fought over something serious. They just hate each other. It’s been like that for the longest time. 

He wonders if it’ll ever be different. He’s tired of fucking fighting. 

He’s tired of most things. 

But the fact that Evan’s managed to break down these walls Connor’s been building up for all these years is fucking terrifying. Connor’s being… vulnerable. Connor Murphy is not  _ vulnerable _ .

His brain is telling him it’s a bad thing. That if he opens himself up to this stuff, he’ll be opening himself up to rejection and heartbreak and more of those horrible thoughts he thinks whenever something goes slightly wrong. 

If he lets Evan in, he’s just going to feel worse in the end. Evan will leave and then Connor will be alone again. And he knows Evan will leave because Connor is Connor and he’s scary and rude and abrasive and awful and Evan’s timid and shy and they’re just total opposites. Whichever fucking deity who decided they were soulmates was fucking wrong. He definitely doesn’t deserve Evan. Evan’s not like him. 

Evan will leave because that’s what happens. People don’t ever stay like they say they will, they find someone better and move on and leave Connor in the dirt. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it will always be. Connor’s gotten used to it.

Might as well put a stop to it before Connor gets too involved. 

“Listen— I’m, like— I’m not that much fun to be around right now and you don’t have to stay just because we’re, like—  _ connected _ , or something, okay?”

Evan looks over at him with confusion etched into the space between his brows. He blinks, studying Connor’s face. Connor feels color flood his cheeks. 

“And— and I know you’re really uncomfortable right now so if you’re going to leave just do it already. Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care. Just— don’t let me tie you down just because I’m having a shitty fucking day.”

Connor huffs out a breath and turns away. He doesn’t want to witness Evan’s reaction knowing that he’s the one who caused it. That he’s the one who hurt him.

And he actually feels his heart break when Evan takes a deep breath and that familiar fluttering happens in his chest. 

He just needs to ignore it. That’s all. 

He hears Evan shift beside him and he closes his eyes tightly, tucks his chin over his shoulder and surprises even himself when the only thing he can think is  _ don’t leave don’t leave please don’t leave  _ on a loop, despite the fact that he fucking told Evan to leave. He always fucks things up. It’s what he does. 

“Connor?”

He doesn’t answer. He just wishes Evan would leave already. 

“Can I… do you mind if I, um. Can I… touch… you?”

Evan’s still there. He’s not gone. 

“That— that sounded weird, I’m sorry, I meant— I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , I just— like, I want to just… hold your hand or something. I dunno.”

No matter how much he wants to say  _ yes, please, please don’t fucking leave me _ , Connor keeps his mouth shut. 

“But if you don’t want me to, like, it’s kind of weird that I’m asking to hold your hand and so if you aren’t comfortable with that I don’t— I can just leave you alone. I’m sorry.”

Evan sounds so defeated and small at the end of that last sentence that Connor’s face screws up in pain. He’s being pulled backward by this supernatural force that he can’t control and he just wishes he’d never found his soulmate, wishes Evan had never walked into his life and showed him understanding and patience because then he’d never have fucked it up like this. Evan deserves better than him. 

Evan sighs quietly. 

“I wish they wouldn’t treat you like this.”

Connor freezes where he’s picking at a stray thread on his sleeves. 

“What?”

Shit. He’s supposed to be silent and brooding so Evan will just fucking leave.

“I wish— I don’t know, I wish those— those  _ jerks _ would stop picking on you. Like, they don’t even have a reason? And, and even if they did have a reason, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a good one. Like, even if they had a reason it still doesn’t justify giving— giving someone a bloody nose.”

Connor slowly turns his head to look at Evan. Like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Because he can’t.

“And— and I’ve seen you get picked on, but— and I’m sorry I didn’t help, by the way— you don’t even do anything? They just come up to you and— and push you and I just don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense at all. You’ll just be walking and minding your business and they just—”

Evan’s eyes refocus on Connor’s and they widen. He quickly shuts his mouth, grimacing at Connor. His ears are red again. 

“I’ll shut up now. Sorry.”

Connor knows he’s staring. Like, in the back of his mind he’s very aware that he’s currently staring at Evan Hansen’s cute freckled face and it’s probably freaking him the hell out but he’s. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. He’s— he’s processing. That’s it.

Evan. Evan Hansen. His soulmate. The kid he didn’t even know until a couple of days ago. Ranting about how Connor— how he doesn’t deserve it. Evan thinks he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I should— I should go, I’m sorry. That was a lot, I don’t even know why I mentioned anything, I just always feel so bad when I see anyone being hurt for no reason because— because I get it, you know? But I understand that I— that I probably overstepped a boundary and—”

Connor’s not listening anymore. He’s just watching Evan’s face. 

Evan Hansen. Huh.

“Everyone else does,” Connor hears himself mutter. 

Evan stops. “What?”

Connor shakes his head. “Sorry. Everyone else… thinks I deserve it. That’s all.” 

Evan stares at him. His eyebrows pull together again. “Why?”

The thing Connor’s liked about Evan Hansen from the get-go is the way that he says everything with such certainty and honesty, almost like he’s too afraid to lie. Evan’s honest. He’s an honest person. A shitty liar. Which must mean that right now, as Evan’s scanning his face and asking Connor  _ why, why do you deserve it, _ like it makes no sense at all, Evan’s. He’s being serious.

Connor scoffs. His heart flutters.

“Because I just do. If you haven’t heard, I’m the human equivalent of a fucking trash can.”

He catches himself rolling his eyes at Evan.

It’s a thing he does without thinking. He gets defensive when people are actually being nice to him and he pushes them away, rejects the compliment and in turn makes the person who’s attempting to be nice reject him instead. It keeps Connor nice and isolated, in this little bubble where no one talks to him and he doesn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances or holding back his feelings or dealing with all that complicated shit he doesn’t have the time or energy for. 

“How?”

A stupid question, Connor thinks. 

But Evan’s face is so fucking  _ genuine _ that he can’t help but roll his eyes again and respond with a huff. He starts counting on his fingers.

“I’m depressed, I have anger issues, I’m fucking  _ gay  _ for god’s sake _ — _ I could go on, but you didn’t sign up to be my fucking therapist so I won’t bother you with more.”

Evan blinks at him. Connor feels like he’s under a microscope. He shifts where he’s sitting. 

“That… all sounds like things you can’t really control about yourself.”

And, well. Evan’s kind of right. 

Connor had expected Evan to drop it. He hadn’t expected him to— to keep pushing. Maybe—

No. He doesn’t care. Connor’s not fucking stupid. Evan’s doing this to keep Connor from punching him in the face or something. Evan’s probably scared of him. 

“Like— the— the gay thing, you can’t help it, we’re— you were born like that, and, and depression is a thing that just happens, and— anger issues can be worked on, so—“ 

At some point during Evan’s speech, Connor turns away and his body reacts before his mind, because his hands go from cold and empty to warm, full; stars exploding underneath his skin and he looks down to see that he has Evan’s fingers laced with his own. 

And he doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels a great sense of relief. 

Probably the soulmate thing. 

He can feel Evan’s eyes burning into the side of his face in shock and he clears his throat, the silent  _ don’t fucking comment on it  _ hanging in the air. Evan looks away and Connor fights the smile that threatens to take over his entire fucking face. He feels a tiny pulse of warmth travel up his arm and realizes that Evan’s tightened his grip. 

“Thanks,” Connor mutters quietly. He’s not sure what exactly he’s thanking Evan for, but he just knows that it’s what he needs to do.

Evan doesn’t respond. He strokes feather-lightly over the side of Connor’s hand with his thumb. 

After a while, with Connor’s head resting on his knees and his eyes closed, Connor’s surprised to hear Evan speak softly. 

“What, um… what exactly… happened? If you— you know, if you don’t mind me asking, of course…”

His voice is gentle. It’s not the way most people direct words at him, their preferred method most commonly being to yell in his direction from a distance. 

It’s a nice change. 

Connor blinks open his eyes. 

He shrugs. “Not a big deal.”

He’s lying. It’s almost natural for him. 

Evan winces, his face twisting unnaturally in pain. “You… like, I’m sorry but you can’t really lie to me. I can literally feel when you’re not telling the truth.”

Right. 

Connor rolls his eyes because he’s fighting the urge to pull Evan Hansen into a bone-crushing hug and never let go. 

“Forgot.”

Another lie. Evan doesn’t comment. 

Evan grimaces, a silent apology. “Yeah. If you don’t… like, if you don’t wanna talk about it that’s fine too, I won’t mind, I just… I just figured I’d try and help because before I found you I’d always think about, um, about how much I want to help because… and you… yeah.”

Evan’s wanted to help him. 

Maybe he does care. 

Not likely. He’s obligated to care because they’re connected, not because he actually does. There’s a difference. 

Silence. Connor’s picking at a thread on his jeans. His gaze slides lazily over to meet Evan’s, and he gives him a quick up-down before he can stop himself. He’s absolutely dying to change the subject.

“You talk a lot, don’t you?”

Eye contact. It makes Connor’s heart beat a little faster. 

“I, um— yeah, I-I guess so, I mean— it’s like, it’s a thing I do when people talk to me for more than, more than a couple of minutes and it kind of stresses me out so I, so I always just, um. Just kind of… talk. Until they… get sick of me…” Evan gets quieter as he goes, eventually trailing off into uncomfortable silence. 

Connor hums in acknowledgement, returning his gaze forward. 

Because he can’t let Evan even speculate about what Connor’s thinking about. Because he’s thinking about something he will literally never admit to anyone ever—

Evan Hansen is adorable. Absolutely cute. And funny. And caring. And—

Connor squeezes his eyes shut. 

“You don’t talk much,” Evan observes, seemingly relieved when Connor’s attention is back on him. Connor’s relieved to be brought out of his head.

Connor hesitates, shrugs. “Yeah.”

It makes Evan’s mouth quirk up into a tiny smile, one that Connor returns with his eyes. He’s trying to play it cool, after all. 

“I… don’t have much to say, I guess.” It’s the truth. 

Evan nods. “Yeah, I feel the same way. Except, except when I don’t have a lot to say I just, um, I say it in a way that’s… kind of long-winded, as you can… see.”

Connor’s close to actually smiling now, leaning his head back against the wall behind them. He’s  _ got _ to hold himself together. “I see that.”

But somehow Evan’s honesty has become fucking infectious, because after a short sigh:

“Some douchebags decided to corner me near the stairwell, so I just ran down here before it got too bad.”

Evan meets his eyes. “... It?”

Connor rolls his. “The… fucking name-calling,  _ bullying _ , face-beating, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Evan strokes Connor’s hand with his thumb again and Connor actually shivers, cursing under his breath. 

It’s quiet.

“Thank you,” Connor whispers to fill the silence. It’s barely audible, but Evan relaxes just the smallest amount beside him. He himself even relaxes into the grip Evan’s got on his hand, leaning his head back against the wall and just existing next to Evan. Like that’s all they need to do. Just exist in proximity to one another. 

“Always,” Evan mutters, and with the utterance of that one word Connor’s made a decision. 

Fuck the voice in his head that’s telling him this is all some big joke. And fuck the people that have told him he’s not worth it, and fuck those jackasses that punch him in the face just because he’s different. 

Because for some reason unbeknownst to him, the universe has decided to tether him to someone who needs him. Someone who’s sweet and caring and who deserves so much better than Connor. And the universe has decided that Connor’s the one he needs, and he’s come to terms with the fact that Evan’s stuck with him no matter how shitty he acts toward Evan. No matter how much he’s the embodiment of a trash can, Evan relies on him now. 

So he’s going to prove them wrong. All of them. 

For once in what feels like a long time, with Evan’s hand in his, he feels motivated to try. To keep going. Because for once, someone needs him. He  _ matters _ . 

And he’s going to be the best damn soulmate Evan Hansen could ever ask for. 


End file.
